And the World Turns.

             The scene was a simple one; kids playing with all their usual exclamations, the sky an open window, and my heart content. I had an eager, clammy hand pulling me wherever the fleeting whims of its owner led us and a destination that was certainly open for interpretation by the little ones who could override my every intention with a smile. My companions propelled me forward in the hurried manner of children that have no place to be, but are determined to reach that place with all haste. On our way past the brightly colored classrooms doubling as temporary bedrooms, those not party to our explorations called out a greeting and threw their arms to the blue skies in an enthusiastic hello. In return, the girls by my side would chant along with me as we practiced the Princess Wave, ‘Elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist. Touch your pearls and blow a kiss!’ It didn’t take long for giggles to become the only sound we could manage as skips and excited little hops accentuated our walk. Before long, a small head popped over the wall with curious eyes, checking out the commotion. ‘Cici!’ the tiny boy exclaimed, using my nickname. ‘Durga sweetheart, come!’ I exclaimed right back, my arm already out in preparation for his bony limbs wrapping halfway around me in a hug that always makes my heart smile. He shook his head in a decline but all the while, a wide grin stayed glued to his face. I walked over only to discover that he was changing into his school uniform. I backed away and said in brief, adapted English, ‘Okay, I wait.’ As he changed, that same wide grin kept me smiling, and my love for him swelled as he kept his eyes on me to make sure I didn’t leave him. Within seconds, he had skittered down the steps to my side. Even though I would have fought tooth and nail to keep him in my arms he was soon off to play without a backward glance, as boys are wont to do.

I cannot fathom an explanation, but this moment has kept me company every minute since being home. I think about little Durga constantly; the way he would stand by the porch where our team gathered, a blanket wrapped around his small frame and a face begging for attention just as it used to beg for food on the streets before he was carried to New Life, carried home; the way he was always the last child to give into yawns and heavy eyes, and the first to raise his hand with the sign of love on his fingers. I wonder if he lays awake some nights curled into his faded little mat on the classroom floor, the chilly air biting at his sun-soaked skin, while a multitude of other noises pierce the stillness and fade into the blackness unaccounted for. I wonder if he glances around at the dark shapes of his brothers, his friends, and thinks about the shadows of his past that came for him in the night. I wonder if he remembers how his parents tried to protect him before the world got through their defenses…It breaks my heart that he doesn’t fall asleep to hummed lullabies or soft goodnight kisses on the cheek. It tears me apart that he is still only one of hundreds of millions of babies facing the darkness on their own. It leaves me lost that I am helpless in the face of this disgusting part of humanity.

Memories of India drown me. Their tides determinedly pull at the frayed ties between a recent past and my diluted present. Their depths flood the fragile recesses of my soul, where I tenderly battle their invasion…memories as fleeting as the whisper of a child’s breath as she falls asleep cradled in my arms; as the hint of a stifled message that lies hidden behind dark eyes with no point of escape. Memories as insistent as the tug of a little one’s heart on mine; as the words that crowded my mind, fighting for a way to be understood by the people who stole my every breath; as the power behind loving a stranger in a way that terrifies, satisfies, and entirely captivates. Memories so disorienting that they make me lose my way; they overwhelm my mind and heart; they persuade me to believe that without it, I am misplaced. I am nothing. They wash over me until the stars blinking above me combine in swirling chaos, transforming into the beautiful light that a single place, a single person, brought to my life. The effect is staggering. I forget where I’m going and instead, my body moves toward the magnetic pull of a distant home. I am forced to wrap myself in my own embrace, enclosing the abrupt pain of losing them all…

I don't know how to pray when all I can do is plead. I don't know how to forgive when all I can do is condemn the world for standing by as these children go to bed hungry, alone, and anonymous. I just don't know.